September 23, 2003 (thing)

So I was wrong. Some of you out there actually do read these things. While I'm fairly certain some people are hoping for a small Russian satellite to fall out of orbit and crush me, thereby stopping my flow of self-deprecation and general misanthropy, it ain't gonna happen, bucko. A smart fellow pointed out to me that the daylogs are as good a place as any to let out everything I keep trapped inside; at the moment, that happens to be pain, self-loathing, and semi-righteous indignation. While I could probably satisfy some dark corner of my soul by express mailing my exchoice selections of roadkill, this is no doubt a saner (not to mention more legal) solution.